


Shared Life Experience

by cleo4u2



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones Are People Too, Don't copy to another site, KinkBingo2019, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self-cest, Smol!Steve, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, especially the count of monte cristo, gratuitous references to literature, recovering Bucky Barnes, spot the harry dresden reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: A tale as old as time: boy meets boy, boy falls in love with boy, war tears them apart until one boy is turned into a super-soldier so they can be together again. Boy loses boy, boy finds boy again only to run away, then boy finds clone of boy and comes home.





	Shared Life Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @softestbuck on twitter for unsticking me <333
> 
> All the thanks to [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) for being my wonderful beta and fixing all my tense changes.

Barnes shot the Hydra tech running through the banks of silent computers in the back of the head. The dimly glowing screens reflected his arms splaying out to the sides and his slow-motion collapse to the floor. The slide on his pistol clicked open and Barnes ejected his clip, and slammed a new one in place all while scanning the hidden basement for his next target.

Nothing moved. The computer fans whirred. Water dripped somewhere. Perhaps this base would be that easy, just ten white-shirted technicians and the two guards stationed in the barn above. 

Perhaps.

Staying alert, Barnes checked each corpse, making sure the Hydra assets were well and truly dead. No sense in letting them live; they were fanatics, one and all. If given half the chance, they’d shoot him in the back and never lose a wink of sleep. Barnes understood; he didn’t care about the blood soaking into the grey carpet. He knew that once, a long time ago, he would have cared. He would have woken in the dead of the night screaming, shaking, and Steve would -

Barnes shook himself, banishing the thought of strong arms holding him in a warm embrace. That was then. That was dead and gone, lost to time and The Chair. This was now, and he had a room to clear, hard drives to copy, and his own tracks to erase. This particular Hydra base was a hub of information, tying all the locations together. It would be a treasure trove, and thus had been damn hard to track down. Barnes wasn’t going to lose this opportunity.

A grenade and a loop of wire at the top of the stairs made a satisfying booby trap, and let Barnes get to work on the computers without having to be hyper-aware of his surroundings. Which was why he didn’t notice the trap door opening, or the man slowly rising out of it. Later, he would know he almost died because he hadn’t cleared the room properly. In the moment, events sped by without the time for thought.

The Hydra goon clicked off the safety of his gun and Barnes flung himself to the ground on instinct. Three shots - .45 caliber by the sound - slammed into the monitor where his head and neck had been moments before, sending glass and plastic flying. Shards showered down as Barnes unclipped the knife from his thigh holster, flicked it open, and flung it toward the source of those shots. He hadn’t looked, aiming on audial clues alone, but someone screamed, and the trapdoor boomed as it slammed shut again.

Scrambling to his feet, Barnes snatched his Glock from where it sat by the ruined computer screen, and ran toward the threat before his opponent could recover. It was a risk, charging in without knowing what awaited him, but allowing this guy the chance to regroup was a worse plan. 

The trap door turned out to be hidden by a semi-opaque chair mat, which was why he’d missed it in the first place. He was able to get his fingers beneath the edge and heave, lifting the metal door until it slammed back into place into what he’d thought was just extra space between desks. Steep stairs ran down toward a brightly lit room hidden out of sight. The Hydra bastard was visible, though, at the very bottom. The knife hadn’t killed him, but the fall had.

On alert again, Barnes slipped down the stairs, gun leading the way. The room hidden beneath was small, perhaps ten feet square. Harsh overhead lighting left nothing in shadow, giving Barnes the perfect view of the cell that took up the majority of the space. There was maybe two feet of space for him before black bars blocked off what appeared to be a regular looking bedroom. Bookshelves took up most of the cell, though a cot, dresser, and desk were crammed into one corner, and an open toilet and shower into the other. That was odd, but the strangest part was that there was no door to access the cell, and the bars appeared embedded into both floor and ceiling.

“You are here to kill me, then?” said the man they’d sealed into this place. He hadn’t gotten up, either to help his jailor, or to see who had caused the commotion on the upper floor. Thin, maybe five and a half feet tall, he sat propped up in the cot, reading a book. Long blond hair hung down his back, but was tied back to keep out of his face. His hands didn’t fit his frame, huge with large fingers that dwarfed his skinny wrists.

Barnes swallowed; he knew those hands.

The silence must have triggered the man’s curiosity as he finally looked up, tucking one elegant finger between the pages of his paperback to hold his place. Eyes as blue as the sky looked at him without recognition, without kindness. He just looked… annoyed, but what Barnes couldn’t help but focus on was that his nose was straight.

“Well?” the prisoner demanded. “Speak up!”

“Steve?” The whispered word was harsher than Barnes would have wanted, but the man with a face from his dreams didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. He gestured with his free hand, ‘Get on with it’, and nothing more. Barnes didn’t know what else to say, though. It was Steve… but Steve Rogers wasn’t that small any more. Not since Erskine’s serum, not since 1938, and it was 2015 now.

Sighing, Steve’s twin from 1937 tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear, and managed to look even angrier.

“If you are not going to kill me, would you please leave so I can return to my book.” He raised it enough Barnes could make out the title: The Count of Monte Cristo. “This is my favorite part.”

Barnes licked his lips and stepped over the body on the floor, up to the bars.

“What part’s that?” he asked. The question was stupid; he needed to find a way to get the prisoner free, or finish getting his intel, not wasting time on a chat, but… he wanted to know. 

A spark of something like happiness lit in the prisoner’s eyes. 

“Edmond has made it to the Island of Tiboulen and will see the sunrise for the first time in an age.” 

Barnes noted the odd way the prisoner spoke, crisp and formal, and knew this wasn’t Steve. He was certainly his spitting image, though, and enough of a threat that Hydra had walled him away. Why they hadn’t just killed him was a mystery, but Barnes wasn’t going to leave him there. He’d starve to death.

“Hydra’s done here,” he said, checking the bars more closely to see if he had missed how they parted. “If I leave you, you’ll die.”

“Okay.” Barnes paused, looking to the prisoner and unnerved by the lack of concern on his familiar features. “Then allow me to finish this part and you can kill me. That will be kinder than starvation.”

“I’m not leaving you here, either.” 

Barnes shook his head and gave up on finding a door. He wrapped his hand around the metal as the tiny version of Steve said, “There’s no way out of this cell.” While he couldn’t keep the grin off his lips, Barnes didn’t answer with words. He listened to his arm power up and pulled. Slowly but surely, the metal warped and twisted, and the prisoner leapt to his feet. Vaguely, Barnes was aware that he darted about the small cell, but focused on repeating the treatment on the bar next to the first, creating a hole big enough for something of the prisoner’s stature to slip through. He’d hardly taken a step back when the man did just that, an arm wrapped around a bundle of cloth that looked suspiciously like a pile of books. 

Blue eyes watched him expectantly and Barnes realized he was waiting for instructions on what came next. Only… Barnes didn’t know what to do with a miniature Steve Rogers. He didn’t know what to do with the larger than life version, either, and they actually knew each other.

“Fuck,” he blurted. “What do I even do with you?”

The anger was back in a heartbeat. Eyes flashing, jaw clenching, the prisoner drew himself up to his full height - which wasn’t very intimidating, really - and snapped, “What do you mean ‘do with me’? I’m not a thing for you to do anything with.”

Barnes blinked, fighting the waves of nostalgia crashing over him, and at least knew what had to be done.

“I’m taking you to Steve.”

Confusion drew the prisoner’s brows together and Barnes found himself fighting off the urge to hug the small frame to him. 

“I’m Steve,” he said.

“Well, Steve, I’m Bucky.” Barnes turned around sharply, deciding he was completely out of his depth, “This is going to be interesting.”

“What is?” Little Steve asked, following close behind as Barnes ascended the steps. 

Since Barnes didn’t know how to explain, he didn’t. He grabbed the copied hard drives and headed for the door. It was too dangerous to keep Little Steve around here, not when Hydra might send reinforcements at any time. They had to get back to the States, to Steve… Big Steve. 

“I am already confused,” Barnes said.

Little Steve snorted. 

“That makes us two peas in a pod.”

Barnes sighed and glanced back at his angry shadow. 

“Keep your head down, keep quiet.” 

When all he got in response was a curt nod and a hard downturn of Little Steve’s lips, Barnes smiled and focused on getting them out in one piece. He could figure out the rest later.

\----

Once they were miles away from the Hydra base, with their tracks covered, Barnes found them a hotel room for the night. Normally, he would have driven through the night to his safe house where he could decode the hard drives, but Steve changed that. He wasn’t going to force march him across two European countries.

Though, Barnes wasn’t sure what he was going to do except somehow get back to Steve… Big Steve. Separating them in his head that way was too easy, and he feared calling the spitfire accompanying him ‘Little’ to his face. That would not end well.

Besides his initial misgivings, Little Steve had followed Barnes without protest. He’d followed orders as well, turning out to be quite adept at moving without sound. He also wasn’t as physically weak as Barnes remembered Big Steve being. It would take a physical examination, but Barnes didn’t think his spine was crooked, nor that he was partially deaf, or asthmatic. Maybe Hydra had fixed those illnesses in this… version of Steve.

“What are you?” Barnes blurted. 

Steve had been quietly inspecting the hotel room, touching everything, staring at the pictures on the walls, investigating both the closet and the bathroom. He paused at the question, glancing at Barnes, before slowly and deliberately turning his back and walking to the windows. With a jerk of his arms, he opened the curtains and stared out at the night.

Agitated, Barnes followed, standing a few feet behind Steve so his image was reflected in the glass, dwarfing Steve entirely.

“I know Steve. He’s… bigger… than you. He doesn’t talk like you. But you have his hands, his eyes, his face. I mean, your nose isn’t crooked, but you could be his twin. I mean, if he wasn’t -”

“Captain America?” Little Steve finished, turning around and crossing his arms over his chest. Barnes blinked, surprised the prisoner knew the alias. It must have shown on his face, because Little Steve sighed and turned his head, looking outside once more. “I’m a clone.”

“Oh.” 

Barnes began imagining everything that would mean, but quickly abandoned it. That was Howard’s domain - No… No, Howard was dead. The Soldier had killed him. Barnes had killed him. He’d begged, begged for his wife, and Barnes had killed him... 

“Hey, hey!” Strong hands clutched at Barnes’ wrists, snapping him out of the panic attack. He was on the ground, shaking, sweating, with Little Steve leaning over him. The emotionless expression was gone, replaced by genuine concern as Steve held onto his wrists. “There. That’s better.” His voice was low, soothing, and so familiar. It was effortless to listen, to let himself be drawn from inside his head. “It’s safe here, is it not? That’s why you brought us here?”

Nodding, Barnes breathed in shakily and stared into those familiar eyes.

“Of course it’s safe,” Steve smiled, “All you have to do is breathe. Breathe with me. It’s safe; you are safe.”

“I killed people,” Barnes blurted, and blamed the outburst on those damn eyes. “Friends. Hydra… I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t… I didn’t want to stop.”

A furrow appeared on Steve’s forehead.

“Hydra is not here.” His hands gently released Barnes’ wrists, but only to rub up and down his arms as if Barnes was cold. And he was, he realized, shivering and shaking at the foot of the bed. “Only you and me. No one else. No one is dead here. It’s safe. You are safe.”

“Safe,” Barnes repeated. “Right. Yes. I’m not with them any more.”

“No,” Steve agreed, his big hands still working to warm up Barnes’ arms, both the flesh and metal ones. “You are with me. You saved me from them and I owe you my life.”

Barnes exhaled shakily and tried to force himself to relax. It was easier with the feeling of Little Steve’s hands on him, warm, grounding, real. It had been so long since he had been touched by another person. So long since he’d wanted it so badly he’d shoved that part of himself down and away. Steve wasn’t the person he’d thought about then, and thinking of Big Steve while his clone touched him felt… wrong.

Shifting his weight to get to his feet, Barnes mumbled, “Steve will know what to do.”

“You know,” Little Steve drawled, not budging, “I am Steve.”

Laughing, Barnes slumped back against the bed. It must have taken Little Steve by surprise as he overbalanced and fell forward, right into Barnes’ chest. Barnes couldn’t stop laughing, so he steadied the tiny version of a man he had been avoiding for a year and let him lean against Barnes’ chest. It was… nice. Too nice, so he didn’t object as Little Steve settled his weight carefully against Barnes, hands on his pecs. 

“I haven’t touched anyone in a long time,” Little Steve murmured. “Will you…? Can I…?”

That was a loaded question, but Barnes found he couldn’t say no to those eyes. Barnes carefully settled his hands around Steve’s shoulders, so small his hands dwarfed them completely. Christ, had Steve really ever been this small? Had he really weighed so little it was hardly noticeable as his weight settled into Barnes’ lap. Blond hair tickled his chin as Steve leaned forward, tucking his head against Barnes’ chest, and wrapped his arms around his neck. Barnes wrapped his arms around Steve’s back, still not sure if this was right, but knowing it was something he wanted. He wanted to give comfort, even if he couldn’t take it. 

They didn’t speak or move again for a long moment, each breathing slowly as this simple contact filled the moment. When he spoke, Barnes wasn’t expecting it, or the words that left his lips.

“I haven’t touched anyone either.” Unsure if he should have spoken, he clumsily added, “In a long time, I mean.”

“I was not what they wanted,” Steve murmured, his voice vibrating against Barnes’ chest. “They desired their own Captain America, not the tiny thing I am, so they locked me away.”

“They were afraid of you.” Barnes let his flesh hand slip up Steve’s back to his hair, gently tugging at the tie there until it slipped free. He’d been fascinated by the long, golden strands from the moment he’d seen them; so different from the Steve he knew. More like his own. “But they couldn’t kill you.” Steve hadn’t protested Barnes’ touch, so he lightly brushed through the loose hair, enjoying the silky softness as the strands slipped through his fingers. “They might have needed you. So they locked you away, where no one could touch you, or use you against them.”

Steve nodded, then shivered. Swallowing the odd sensation growing in his chest, Barnes didn’t stop stroking Steve’s hair, or move from the foot of the bed. It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing that he was this far gone in moments, knowing he could have had this at any time he wanted if he’d just gone home. If he had just gone back to Big Steve, he wouldn’t have been so damned alone. Though, even now he wasn’t sure that would be a good idea. He wasn’t Bucky yet, even if that was the name he’d given Little Steve. Bucky was a ghost in his own head, forgetting that the past was past and the future was a custer fuck.

And yet… it was hard to remember that as the small form against his chest shifted, curling up tighter in his arms. It was hard to think that all his reasons were worth giving this up.

“Then you came,” Steve said softly. “My Abbe Faria, or perhaps my Jacopo. Do you have a treasure to gift me? Lessons to teach? Or will you help me now I have my freedom?”

There was a teasing note to Steve’s voice, but he hadn’t moved a millimeter. It wasn’t a tense stillness, though, but the opposite. Steve was so relaxed, his muscles didn’t even twitch, and his breath tickled Barnes’ chest.

“I’m really not sure what you’re talking about.”

“The Count of Monte Cristo.”

“The one you were reading when I arrived?”

Steve nodded and something pressed against Barnes’ chest. Steve’s hand, he realized, just over his heart.

“It’s my favorite.”

“You said.” Barnes could hear the smile in his voice and quickly changed the subject. “What’s it about?”

“A man betrayed, sent to prison for a crime he did not commit, all because of the jealousies of another. He seeks his revenge on those who destroyed what should have been the happiest time of his life.”

Barnes didn’t know what to say about that, so he said, “You read a lot.”

“That’s what I have. I have my books; they gave me any I wanted, but nothing else. No computers, no one to converse with, no radio to enjoy. I suppose they didn’t want me to go crazy.” 

It was sad, in a way, but Barnes didn’t pity Steve. He knew all too well what it was like to have Hydra put you away until such time as they decided you’d have a use. Steve had never been a weapon, though, an object kept without emotion or free will. They’d needed another way to control him.

“Hope,” he murmured. “They gave you hope; just enough so you would be useful if they ever wanted to use you.”

Steve snorted. 

“Well that was stupid.” He cleared his throat and said in a tone that suggested to Barnes he was reciting some line he had memorized, “‘Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.’”

“And that’s from?”

“Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.”

“Which is about?”

“A man sent to prison for a crime he did not comment-”

“I’m sensing a theme,” Barnes drawled.

Steve ignored him. “- and his quest for freedom -”

“And revenge?”

“- and revenge,” Steve’s voice trembled with amusement, “on those who stole his chance at redemption.”

Barnes dropped his hand from Steve’s hair and rested his palm against the nape of his neck.

“Do you read a lot about prisoners making their escape?”

“No, but,” Steve paused and spoke softer when he continued, “once I had them, I… They resonated. I read them many times.”

Barnes licked his lips and said, “I was a prisoner. Hydra’s prisoner. Your… Captain America saved me, and now I’m seeking my revenge.”

Like he’d been shocked, Steve sat up, pressing his hands to Barnes’ chest. His eyes were bright, dancing with joy, and Barnes didn’t want to look at anything else ever again.

“You _are_ Edmond Dantes!” 

Blinking, Barnes said, “If you say so.”

“I do.” Steve smirked, then gestured toward Barnes as he said, “‘He was a fine, tall, slim young fellow, with black eyes, and hair as dark as the raven’s wing; and his whole appearance bespoke that calmness and resolution peculiar to men accustomed from their cradle to contend with danger.’”

“I have to admit,” Barnes said slowly, “that fits.”

“See?” Smug, Steve crossed his arms and resumed his position against Barnes’ chest. “Edmond, and you will find your revenge and peace of heart.”

“That… would be nice.” Barnes swallowed, uncomfortable again, and asked, “Then who are you?”

“Me?” Steve yawned, stretched briefly, and settled once more. “I will be your Abbe Faria. I will teach you all you need to know to return to the world.”

Barnes considered that, then nodded once.

“I accept.”

When Steve didn’t respond, Barnes looked down and had to immediately bite back a laugh. While Barnes had debated if he wanted a tutor, or to even return to the world, Steve had fallen asleep, there in his lap. 

Smiling, Barnes relaxed and closed his eyes.

\----

The explosion of sound accompanying the door blasting inwards woke Barnes from a solid sleep. Before his mind had fully processed what was happening, his instincts had kicked in, saving both their lives. When automatic gun fire plowed into the mattress they’d been sleeping against, they were already diving behind the second bed and the far wall, Steve tucked tight to his chest. Bullets sent splinters flying through the air as he pulled the mattress over their prone bodies and waited for the key sounds of reloading.

God, he’d been so stupid. They’d gotten the drop on them and it was all his fault. He hadn’t spent a minute securing the motel room and they’d slept in the middle of the damn room, not in a secure spot like the bathroom. What had he been thinking?

He knew exactly what he’d been thinking about: blue eyes and a familiar voice. They should have kept driving, but Barnes hadn’t wanted to put a strain on Little Steve. He should have gotten them set up in the bathroom, with some kind of early warning system, but he’d _talked_ and _cuddled_ and fallen asleep instead! It might have gotten them both killed. And Steve…

Steve hadn’t made a sound.

Heart suddenly pounding, Barnes arched enough to look down. Blue eyes blinked back at him, round and terrified, but very much alive. Why he hadn’t shouted or screamed, Barnes didn’t know. He was just relieved the initial attack hadn’t done any damage.

The familiar _clack_ of a slide locking open sounded in Barnes’ ears. Reaching for the guns strapped to his hips - at least he was armed - he pulled both from their holsters as he twisted and sprung from beneath the mattress. He leapt, parallel to the floor, noting their attackers through the remains of the room’s walls. Five, a full squad, and well trained. As two reloaded, the others covered them. They weren’t expecting Barnes to present such a low target though, and their shots went wild as they tried to adjust. It was moments, but that was all Barnes needed.

Two fell with screams and shattered knees from two, well-placed shots before Barnes hit the ground and rolled to his feet. Another shot took out the gunman stepping up to cover for his fallen comrades, a round hole appearing in his forehead before he crumpled, half on top of his teammate. The last two were swinging their assault rifles toward him, but Barnes was already amongst them. Switching his grip on his gun, he slammed the butt into face of one, then whipped it backward so the barrel shattered the other’s teeth. Adjusting his grip again, Barnes fired four more shots, ensuring the remaining gunmen wouldn’t get up again. 

Five bodies littered the sidewalk in front of their hotel room. Breathing hard, Barnes looked around the parking lot and at the other hotel rooms. Nothing moved. Not even a curtain twitched. It was utterly silent, but he knew that would soon change. They had to move.

When he stepped back into the room, the mattress was already leaning against the wall. Steve was swinging Bucky’s hefty duffle bag over his shoulder, his mouth set in hard lines. When Barnes caught his shoulder, cupped his chin, and lifted his face up, he wasn’t sure what he was going to say until it left his mouth.

“You’re okay?”

Steve nodded, a single, sharp jerk of his head. Slower, Barnes nodded as well. Several sentences bubbled up in his chest, but Barnes pushed them down. There was no time for chit-chat.

“Stay behind me.”

Not waiting for a response, Barnes swept back out the door, gun first. No one else waited for them, no sniper fired. They hadn’t come for him, then. They would have sent more, an army, not a single squad. No, they’d come for Steve.

Ignoring the car they’d come in, Barnes hotwired an old VW bug that had once been blue, but now had a red hood, and green and white doors. It purred to life as sirens sounded in the distance. Barnes only spared a moment to make sure Steve had his seat belt on before he took off.

They drove in silence until the little town was far behind them.

“We’re not stopping again,” Barnes said. “My safe house is an eighteen hour drive from here.”

“Um,” Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably, “I can’t hold it that long.”

Barnes blinked, then found himself chuckling.

“I meant stopping to sleep. We can make a pit stop in a few hours for food and… that.”

“Okay.”

The silence settled again and it wasn’t peaceful, but Barnes didn’t know why. Something had shifted between them, and not for the better.

“You’ve had training,” Barnes blurted after another mile had passed. 

From the corner of his eye, Barnes watched Steve nod and shrug at the same time.

“Before they realized I wouldn’t get bigger.” He shifted again, making the seat leather creak. “When I was a kid.”

Silence stretched again as Barnes waited for more to that sentence, but nothing came. Training soldiers from childhood was nothing new for Hydra. What was, was not using Steve as an asset. Sure, he wasn’t a super-soldier, but why mothball him? Why send a squad to bring him back in? Being a clone of Steve Rogers couldn’t have been that dangerous, could it?

“They weren’t after me.”

Steve blue out a breath, then sighed deeply. “No.”

“Why’d they put you in that cell?”

Of everything Barnes expected, it wasn’t to watch Steve smile. There wasn’t any joy in it, though, only satisfaction.

“I realized I was not what they wanted before they did. I knew...” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “They raised me to think like them, so I knew they would get rid of their handiwork. I look like _Steve Rogers_ , I can’t be an agent _and_ I can’t pass as the original. I am a liability; too many questions if I am found, so… I staged a rebellion.”

“A rebellion?” Barnes repeated, unable to picture it. A rebellion inside Hydra?

“The rebellion was not the point. It was a distraction. I used it to get some information on certain Hydra leaders. I sent the incriminating data to the former head, Pierce. First just information on him, but a promise for equally compromising information on his rivals if he promised me… sanctuary.”

“The cell was your idea,” Barnes realized. “So they couldn’t get to you.”

Steve nodded and smiled at him. It felt… good. It felt better when Steve laid his hand over Barnes’ on the stick shift.

“They could shoot me, of course, but Pierce likes to think himself a man of his word. Scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. I scratched his back, gave him leverage, and he built me a cell where they could feel safe I’d never compromise their operations.”

“That was…” Barnes shook his head slowly. The entire idea could have gone so terribly. So many ways it could have gone wrong. And yet, he couldn’t see another way out. Escape wouldn’t be an option, not with Hydra. Turning traitor would have been equally risky, since Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. so thoroughly. “Brilliant.”

The hand holding his squeezed.

“ _You_ were brilliant. Back there. They would have had me and I bet Pierce won’t hold up his end of the deal after an escape attempt.”

Fear and rage rose in Bucky in equal measures. Fear at the thought of Steve being killed, rage at the mention of Pierce.

“Pierce is dead,” he said and the words came out in a low growl.

“O-oh. I…” Steve stared blankly out the windshield, unmoving, expression blank. “Even more fortuitous that you came, then. Whoever the current head is would not have kept the same bargain, I think.”

“No,” Barnes agreed. “You’ll be safe with Steve. You.” He scowled. “Other you.”

Steve laughed. 

“Original me?”

Bucky shook his head.

“You’re too different. You’re not the same, just… You _look_ the same.”

“And have the same name,” Steve offered with another squeeze of Barnes’ hand, likely sensing his confusion.

“That, yeah.” Barnes blew out a hard breath. “Point is, I trust him.”

The brush of Steve’s thumb across the back of his hand made Barnes shiver.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

\----

Getting ahold of Steve was easy. After stashing Little Steve at his safehouse, he went to the hotel Sam Wilson was using as a home base. Barnes had been careful to keep tabs on Steve’s friend, but out of reach, for just this reason. As uncertain as he had been to return to Steve, he hadn’t been willing to make the return difficult. He’d given Wilson enough clues to be near without compromising Barnes’ own security. 

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t his best idea to wait for Wilson in the dark. The man had pulled a gun on him the second he’d spoken, and Barnes wasn’t able to return the favor, not when it might mean hurting Steve’s friend.

“Friendly,” Barnes said, though the dry, hard edge to his tone probably spoiled any attempt at humor.

“Barnes?” Wilson demanded. 

“Who else?” The words were harsher than Barnes wanted, but he’d had a gun pulled on him. Said gun dipped, then lowered entirely, before disappearing into a shoulder holster. Only then was Barnes able to relax.

“Figures you’d find me,” Wilson grumbled. “You ready to come home?”

Barnes hesitated. No, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to dump Little Steve in Steve’s lap without so much as a hello. Steve would still take him in, ensure Hydra didn’t bother him, but it felt… wrong. Worse than staying gone, he’d be saying he knew Steve was looking and he didn’t want to be found. That was the truth, but the truth would still hurt. Barnes didn’t want to hurt Steve, not more than he already had.

It must have taken him too long to respond, because Wilson said, “If you don’t want to come home, no one is going to make you, Barnes. Steve just wants you to know there’s a place for you, if you want it. He won’t let Hydra, or anyone else, abuse you any more.”

That set something off in Barnes’ chest and he snapped, “I don’t need his help.”

“No, you don’t,” Wilson said, surprising him with the words and the light he turned on. “I’ve seen what you’re doing to Hydra. You can take care of yourself. Don’t mean you have to, or that you don’t _want_ help.” Barnes swallowed, breath catching as he recalled another scene and saying those same words. “You don’t have to be alone.”

Barnes wasn’t alone, but that wasn’t the point. 

“I have… I found someone. A Hydra experiment.” Barnes licked his lips. “They cloned Steve.”

Wilson paused, but his face showed little of what he was feeling.

“He isn’t with Hydra?” It was a smart question and Barnes shook his head. Little Steve hadn’t said as much, but it was clear enough. “Then I’m sure he’ll be welcome.”

Barnes let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” Wilson pulled out his cellphone. “I’ll call us a ride. How long do you need?”

Barnes stood. “Two hours.” 

Wilson just nodded, fingers tapping away at the cell phone. It was weird, Barnes thought as he headed for the door. This should have been harder, or taken longer.

\----

Little Steve had been silent during the ride back to Wilson's hotel, but Barnes couldn't decide if he was upset or just… quiet. This Steve had many similar expressions to the Steve he'd grown up with, but now his face was blank. He didn't fidget, or stare at every passing sight, either. Every emotion and thought was tightly contained.

“What's wrong?” Barnes found himself asking.

“What?” Steve asked, then quickly corrected himself, “Nothing.”

“I thought-” Barnes stopped because what he _thought_ was that they'd become friends. Close, even. Only… Bucky had been close with people. Bucky had friends. Barnes was alone. It was better that way; safer.

And lonelier. Barnes was… tired of being alone. He was tired of not touching anyone, holding them, or knowing someone cared. He had enough of his memories back to remember what it felt like to love and be loved. He had just been unwilling to take it, to compromise himself. 

No, if he were being honest, he had been too scared. If Steve no longer loved him...

Barnes shook off the thought and tried again. “I thought I was your Dantes.”

Steve didn't say anything. The miles rolled by, bringing them closer and closer to… Barnes wasn't sure. What he knew was he wanted it to be home.

As Barnes resigned himself to Steve's silence, the man said, “I am afraid that I am Mercedes.”

“I haven't read the book.”

Steve sighed, but his gaze didn't waver from the road before them.

“Doomed to be alone. She loved Dantes,” Barnes did not swerve, or tighten his grip on the wheel; he had too much control for that, “but when they were torn apart, he sought his revenge and found Haidee, who he loved the rest of his days. Mercedes lived out the rest of _her_ days alone, supported by Dantes, but bereft of all love.”

“You,” Barnes had to clear his throat. “You love me?”

“I was taught that love is for children.” Steve's hand slowly lowered over Barnes’ on the gearstick. “But my books taught me that love is strength, it… it's the only way to find peace. And when I'm with you, I find I do not need my books to distract me. I am happy to be here.” 

Steve paused and Barnes knew he should say something, anything, but words failed him. He turned his hand over, catching Steve's. Steve squeezed hard, but his voice was still dark as he said, “I am not your Haidee. He is.”

Barnes tightened his grip on Steve's hand. “I love him.”

“Maybe it's in his DNA,” Steve murmured. “Maybe we're built to love you.”

“Then am I built to love you?”

Barnes didn't know why he asked the question. He knew he shouldn't have, not least because he felt _something_ for the small Steve at his side. Maybe he was built to love Steve, it wasn't as though seventy years of torture and brainwashing had been able to stomp it out, but the world hadn't been meant to have two of him. And there was a man he'd loved his whole life, waiting for him; Barnes wouldn't turn his back on that, not if Steve still loved him. So asking Little Steve that question was only cruel. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

They didn't speak again until they pulled into the parking lot, and Barnes saw Sam dressed as The Falcon. Barnes glanced at him as he slowed the VW to better scan the area and the target. 

No, the threat. 

No! _Christ_ , Barnes, get it together! Sam Wilson was Steve's friend. Steve trusted him. He was not a threat or a target. He was an ally.

Some of his tension must have shown because Steve let go of his hand and very calmly drew a Glock from under his seat. Barnes didn't recognize it, so he assumed it had belonged to the Hydra squad that had come to recapture Steve. That he hadn't noticed Steve stow it almost made him smile; the guy might be little, but he had skills.

“What's wrong?” Steve asked.

Barnes sighed and navigated their car into an empty space. “I didn't expect him to be armed. It… makes me nervous.”

“You're armed,” Steve said, the words carefully chosen. He started at the Falcon, at Sam, and tilted his head to the side. “Maybe that's why he showed up the same?”

Opening his mouth, Barnes changed his mind on arguing and closed it again. That was a good point, actually. He was The Winter Soldier. This could be a trap.

“I threw him off a Helicarrier once.”

Steve shorted and tucked the gun into his bag. 

“And you were surprised he's armed.”

Barnes sighed again, but conceded the point.

“Stay near me.” 

At the same time, they opened their doors and climbed from the car. The beat-up VW's hinges screeched as they swung open and shut, but Barnes thought he would miss the reliable Beetle. No one fired, which was much more important. No tactical team rushed to surround them. Sam didn't even move from his place in front of the hotel.

Barnes took a breath, pulled his duffle from the front storage compartment, and strode toward his future and his past, Steve at his heels.

When they drew close enough, Sam frowned, then reached for his ruby colored goggles and lowered them down his nose to stare at Steve. Barnes understood; he'd felt the same way seeing Steve's clone for the first time. In the end, though, Sam handled it far better than he had.

“The hair's a good look,” he said to Steve before holding out his hand. “Sam Wilson.”

“Steve,” Steve said, and shook once before pulling away again. 

Sam grunted.

“That's going to get confusing.”

Barnes found himself saying, “Tell me about it.”

The friendliness caught Sam off guard as well, because the goggles snapped abruptly back into place. He grunted again, this time from pain, and gestured for them to follow him inside the hotel.

“Where's the ride?” Barnes asked, trying to keep calm when he wasn't in control of the situation. He would have no control from now on, as a matter of fact. There would be Big Steve, and the government, and possibly Russia wanting to take his freedom away again. Well, Steve wouldn't _want_ to, would likely let Barnes leave again if he chose, but it would hurt him and that was a collar of own.

A large hand slipped into his own and Barnes took a long, slow breath. He'd been inching towards another panic attack and hadn't noticed, but Steve had and he'd known what to do about it

“It's on the roof,” Sam said as they crossed a completely empty lobby toward an open and waiting elevator. Cleared for public safety, most likely, Barnes thought bitterly.

“Helicopter?” Steve asked. 

“Quinjet.”

Steve tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded. 

“Where's…?” Barnes paused, having been about to ask where Steve was, but Steve was holding his hand. 

“Cap is waiting for you,” Sam answered the unfinished question. “We should be at the compound in a few hours.”

Barnes didn't like the sound of a compound, but reminded himself that he trusted Steve and Steve trusted Sam. The hand holding his own squeezed again and Barnes reacted without thinking. He shook himself free, caught Steve about the shoulders and pulled him tight to his side. Steve went without comment or complaint, and leaned against him. That solid weight was the comfort he needed as it told him he wasn't alone.

They stayed touching throughout the flight across the Atlantic. Sam stared with pursed lips, but didn't comment. Barnes wasn't sure what he'd have done without the support he was drawing from Steve, and he felt all the worse for it. Steve loved him, and here he was holding on, holding tight, needing him, all while hoping he was heading into another's arms. Steve had to know, too, but he didn't pull away again. He gave, and let Barnes take without complaint.

Barnes didn't deserve him. Either of them.

When the jet landed and the hatch lowered, Barnes stood, but didn’t move. Sam debarked without a word, or even a glance, leaving Barnes to make his own choices. Steve had stood with him, still holding his hand, and just waited. Quiet, patient, and with a stillness the original had never had in him. It was calming, even while it made Barnes feel terribly guilty because he didn’t think he could let go _and_ walk down that ramp.

He took a breath, squeezed the hand in his own, and gently tugged Steve after him. The metal echoed with their footsteps as they walked onto the roof of a squat building in the middle of a huge, grassy field. Barnes was only peripherally aware of what was probably beautiful scenery because there, shadowed by an overhang, was Steve. Big, blond, and beautiful; just like he remembered. Sam was at his side, back to Bucky, lips by Steve’s ear as he whispered something too quietly for Barnes’ enhanced hearing to pick up over the sound of the Quinjet’s engines spinning down. Steve’s eyes flicked to his hand, though, and Barnes knew what Sam had been trying to tell Steve as it stole over his face: hurt, anger, envy, right before it was bottled up and hidden away behind a showman’s smile.

The USO had taught Steve one thing that the streets of Brooklyn never managed: how to hide.

Barnes’ feet carried him halfway to Steve before something jerked at the hand he was holding and Little Steve hissed, “Bucky, that hurts.”

Blinking, Barnes froze and looked down at the man who matched the rest of his memories. The long fingers were white at the tips, and Barnes quickly loosened his grip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Little Steve gave him a wry look and pulled his hand free of Barnes’. In three steps he’d walked up to Captain America, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hi. I’m Steve.”

“Uh,” Big Steve floundered, glanced at Sam, then Barnes, and finally took the offered hand. His fingers dwarfed Little Steve’s, swallowing them up as he shook warmly. “I’m also Steve.”

Little Steve smirked.

“I know. Bucky is madly in love with you.”

Barnes shuffled, grabbing his duffle with both hands and squeezing now that he had nothing else to hold on to. It was hard not to run when Big Steve’s head snapped up, eyes locking on him sharply. This Steve was _dangerous_ , he’d been an enemy of the Soldier. He was also just… Steve, and Barnes had missed him so damn much, even as he’d avoided him for so long.

“Hey, Stevie,” he murmured.

“Is that, uh… true, Buck?” Stevie rubbed at the back of his head, looking all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else, but that damn showman’s smile was gone and that’s what mattered. “You still… I mean, you remember us?”

Barnes took a tentative step forward and nodded. It was a short, sharp jerk of his head, but the acknowledgement was enough to send Stevie bounding over and wrapping him in a hug. His face pressed into Stevie’s broad shoulders and he clutched Stevie to him, wishing he wasn’t shaking all of a sudden. Wishing he had been brave enough to come back sooner.

“The things I’ve done…” he whispered, but Steve shook his head and took his face in his hands.

“It wasn’t you.”

Closing his eyes, Barnes shook his head. 

“They were my hands.”

Stevie’s blue eyes went big and round with the pain he felt on Barnes’ behalf, but he didn’t speak. He tried, Barnes could see that, but he didn’t know how to fix this. Stevie always needed to fix things, make them right, but no one could make _this_ right. Not after all the evil Barnes had done. There was blood on his hands that couldn’t be washed away.

“‘A thing can be true and still be desperate folly.’” Both Stevie and Barnes looked to Little Steve, who had moved close once more, within reach if either of them reached out. The words once more held the edge of recitation, and Little Steve answered the question in Barnes’ eyes, “Watership Down,” before he took Barnes’ hand and explained, “They were your hands, but not your heart. The hearts of others caused their evil through you, and that makes a difference, Bucky.”

“But I was good at it,” Barnes whispered, wishing he could just take the absolution that was being offered. Life wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t just say I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, it wasn’t my fault, and bring the dead back to life.

Little Steve just shrugged and put his hand in Stevie’s.

“So is he.”

Barnes blinked and looked up at the best man he’d ever known. Shadows swarmed his blue eyes before he nodded hard. He hadn’t let go of Barnes’ left side, even as Little Steve had taken his hand, or when he took it again. Now his fingers dug into Barnes’ shoulder just beyond the metal plates, but somehow didn’t pull Barnes in.

“I worked for them, too. I didn’t know it, but I spent two years working for Pierce, for S.H.I.E.L.D., doing their bidding.”

Licking his lips, Barnes didn’t know what to say. Stevie was _still_ the best man he’d ever known, unintentional employment or not. Any evil he would have done would have been unintentional, unknowing, and couldn’t be his fault. 

“I worked for them, too,” Little Steve said, repeating Stevie’s words, but his voice was soft, like a loud noise might spook Barnes into flight once more. “I knew nothing but Hydra and my mission, until they tired of me. Intent _matters_. It doesn’t mean what you do is always virtuous, but it matters if you wished to do harm, or were manipulated, or simply ignorant. It matters because once you know what you have done that intent dictates your subsequent actions. Will you strive to make the world right again, deny what you’ve done, or smile?”

“You went after them - Hydra.” Stevie pulled him close then and Barnes ducked his head. “You might not believe it now, Buck, but you did what was right, when you could.”

Tears blurred Barnes’ eyes and he pressed his face to Stevie’s neck. Stevie cradled him close, murmuring into his ear - “It’s all right. You’re here, I’ve got you. I’ve missed you so much.” - and Barnes lost what little control he had left. A sob built and broke, and Stevie just held him tighter. It was mortifying, but he couldn’t stop the flood once it had been released. Part of him didn’t want to. This? It felt good in a way his guilt didn’t want to acknowledge. No matter what he’d done, what they’d made him do, Stevie and Steve loved him. Not just in spite of what he’d done, but because of what he’d _chosen_ since.

Despite it all, Bucky was loved.

When he got control of himself and the body-wracking sobs had faded to sniffles, Bucky lifted his head and found they were alone. Both Sam and Little Steve had disappeared into the building. Uncertainty flared within him again and he looked back to Stevie.

“Um,” Bucky paused, then blurted, “Now what?”

Stevie laughed, throwing his head back. The last of Bucky’s nerves vanished at the sight. Nothing was more beautiful than this, than Stevie happy and carefree, laughing with his whole body, his eyes crinkled and his chest shaking. Bucky was a lucky man to have this back in his life. Not to mention that Stevie hadn’t held his attraction to his clone against Bucky.

 _Bucky_. When had he decided he could use that name? He wasn’t sure, but there it was: He wasn’t Barnes, he wasn’t the Soldier, he was Bucky.

Swiping a hand across his eyes, Steve beamed at him and Bucky lost his train of thought. 

“We get you settled -” Bucky’s stomach rumbled and Stevie snorted, biting hard on his lip to keep from busting up again. “And get you fed. Don’t worry about...uh, Steve.” Stevie’s lips pursed, but he shook it off and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist, leading him towards the door. “Sam will get him sorted if he hasn’t already.”

Bucky leaned against Stevie’s side and let himself be led into the building. He still wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, in the broader scheme of things, but he was going to follow Stevie’s lead. They’d get settled and then… Well, Bucky would figure that out as it came. He was smart enough to just enjoy this moment while it happened.

\----

Bucky ran his fingers along the back of Steve's grey couch. Their grey couch, he supposed, as Stevie had called this _their_ place. He had a home, an unfamiliar apartment in Avengers headquarters that somehow reminded him of their place in DUMBO, while being nothing like it. Maybe it was the sketches on the walls, framed now, or Steve's shoes under the coffee table, or the record player in the corner by a pile of vinyl, even though there was an empty shelf nearby to hold them. Maybe it was the smell of cooking corned beef, or the sound of Steve down the hall making a racket while cleaning up their bedroom. Whatever it was, Bucky had never felt so _safe_ anywhere, not since he'd shipped off to war.

Closing his eyes, Bucky inhaled the scent of Steve, dry A.C. air, and home cooking, and tried out the thought. Home. Bucky was home.

Smiling wryly, he shook his head and looked about once more. This wasn't home. Stevie, _he_ was home. This was just the place they belonged.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist and Bucky relaxed into Steve's warmth.

“What's put that smile on your face?” he asked before pressing a kiss behind Bucky's ear.

“I was thinking of home,” Bucky said, turning in Steve's embrace and looping an arm around those broad shoulders. “You.”

Stevie turned a pretty shade of pink and kissed Bucky rather thoroughly. Far from minding, he kissed back, sighing into the familiar taste. Yeah, this was definitely home. He'd come home at last, and none of the terrible things he'd imagined had happened.

Leaving his lips, Steve kissed along Bucky’s jaw, apparently without purpose, but because he could.

“I was expecting you to be worrying about… Steve.”

Well, maybe one thing, not that he had ever imagined his problem would be _two_ Steves.

“I…” Bucky sighed and leaned back, knowing this conversation would have to happen sooner or later. “I have spent the last two days with him. I wanted… time. With you.”

“I'll never pass up time with you, Buck.”

“But?” Bucky prompted because Steve's blue eyes swam with guilt.

“But…” Steve chewed his lip, then admitted, “You seemed awful close.”

Bucky breathed slowly through his nose.

“I… He's so much like you, Stevie.” Steve blinked. “Beautiful as you were then, smart, but… He's taken that fire of yours and tempered it into something cold and hard, but he also… he knows…”

It was Steve's turn to gently prompt him with, “Knows?” but Bucky was just relieved he wasn't angry.

“What it was like, being Hydra's… thing.” 

Bucky couldn't look at Steve after that, and laid his head on Steve's shoulder instead. Steve, though, he just pulled Bucky close and held him tight.

“Shared life experience,” he said, an odd tone to the words Bucky couldn't place.

“Yeah.” Bucky pressed his nose into Steve's neck. “And then being so like you, I just… I love you.”

Steve hugged him hard, then pulled his face up for another kiss. This one was hard and fierce, but lingered on and on until Bucky was holding tight to Steve's shoulders for balance. Bucky wasn’t sure what was going on, but it wasn’t the self-sacrificial goodbye Bucky had been expecting to need to talk Stevie out of, like the one Little Steve had made when they got off the jet. 

Not letting go of Bucky's head, Steve pressed their foreheads together after he broke the kiss. Bucky licked his lips, but after only a moment Steve was pulling away, grabbing his wrist, and pulling him toward the kitchen.

“Come on,” he said, smiling back at Bucky over his shoulder, “I made your favorite.”

Bucky could only smile back. He didn’t have favorites any more, but the way Stevie looked at made him warm down to his toes. Now that he was home again, he'd take favorites and a mess, so long as Stevie came with it.

\----

They spent dinner talking about Steve, because Bucky was too uncomfortable to discuss what he had been doing the last two years, or the years before that, or even the war, or their life together in Brooklyn. Talking about Steve was safe, plus Bucky would never have passed up the chance to learn about Steve’s life since he’d been defrosted. His Stevie wasn’t quite the same man that he once knew. His smiles were more subdued, but his eyes crinkled about the edges, and he exuded a self-confidence that drew Bucky in like a moth to a flame. If Steve noticed their conversation never centered on Bucky, he didn’t show it. Bucky was fairly certain he knew, considering the man he had grown up with had hated talking about himself. Yet, he let Bucky ask all his questions, laughing and talking, so happy Bucky felt like he was reliving one of his old memories, ones from before the war that he’d clung to so hard they were gilded into perfection.

All things end, though. Hours after moving into the living room and sitting with hands linked and knees touching, Steve yawned, interrupting himself and letting out a muffled, startled sound. He glanced at the old fashioned clock hanging over the mantle and shook his head.

“Sorry, Buck. Think it’s time to hit the sack.”

Bucky blinked, glancing nervously down the hall that lead to Steve’s - to _their_ bedroom. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known the moment was coming, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t avoided it. The last person he’d slept with was, well, Little Steve and that hadn’t exactly been a normal sleeping scenario. Plus, Steve might expect… Well, what boyfriends did in bed. What _they_ used to do in bed. Things Bucky hadn’t done in seven decades.

“You’re going to have to stop being afraid of me sooner or later.”

Flicking his gaze to Stevie, he found a small, sad smile on his lips. The words were a surprise, but that look cut deeply. He had known keeping away would hurt Steve, but it was different looking into Steve’s eyes and seeing that pain there. To make it worse, Steve hadn’t held Bucky’s actions against him. He hadn’t been angry, or even asked why Bucky had needed to stay away for so long. Bucky knew it was necessary; that he’d had to find himself again without Steve, but that didn’t erase Steve’s feelings.

“I don’t want…” Bucky licked his lips, put his thoughts in order, and started over. “I’m afraid, yeah, but not of you. I’m afraid I’ll… do something. Disappoint you, or hurt you, or… I’m afraid I’ll chase you away.”

“Bucky,” Steve began, but Bucky shook his head.

“It’s not you, Stevie. I’m just… I don’t even know who I am anymore. I figure it out a little bit every day, but… if I don’t like all of it, why would you? And what if I can’t give you something you need? Something that… I used to?”

Steve pushed closer on the couch, their legs touching from ankle, to knee, to hip, and grabbed Bucky’s hand.

“Bucky, _listen_ , okay?” Buck swallowed, but nodded, and Steve smiled at him so sweetly. “That’s _perfectly normal_. That’s what happens in relationships, _normal_ relationships that aren’t as torn about by time like ours. We’re gonna keep growing as people, and we might stop doing the things that the other loves, or disappoint each other, or change, and _that’s okay_. We just have to _talk_ about it. I’ll tell you if something bothers me, and we’ll figure out how to get past it, and you’ll tell me, and we’ll communicate like the adults we’re supposed to be.”

Bucky sniffed, catching the Millennial joke for what it was, but too shaken to laugh.

“That sounds awfully simple.”

Steve shrugged.

“It won’t be, but if we both want this badly enough, we’ll figure it out. You just… You _have_ to talk to me, okay? And listen, and I’ll do the same.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispered and felt his confidence grow at the way Stevie smiled at him. “Yeah, okay. When you put it like that, it doesn't sound so… daunting.”

Keeping hold of Bucky’s hand, Steve pulled him to his feet and started around the couch.

“It’s all about perspective, pal. Perspective, and a good therapist.”

“You saw a therapist?” Bucky asked, surprised and unable to hide it.

Steve looked back at him, still grinning, unrepentant; looking as brilliant as sunshine.

“Seeing,” he corrected. “Had some issues to get through. Someone else’s perspective on your life is… It helps. I recommend you talk to someone, too.” The smile dimmed and Bucky scowled, hating that something had chased it away. “And you went through a Hell far, far worse than mine.”

Him; _he’d_ chased it away.

“Punk,” Bucky huffed, lengthening his stride to bump into Steve’s shoulder. It was a little harder than he’d meant from his irritation. “It’s not a competition. I’m _happy for you_. I’m happy you can teach me something.” He paused and added, “For once.”

The smile returned, until Bucky finished. Then Steve squawked and shoved Bucky in return. They finished the trip to the bedroom wrestling and laughing; _playing_ despite each being a lethal, killing machine in their own right. In that moment they were just two boys, horsing around, grappling for the upper hand, throwing taunts and jabs, and gasping for breath.

Bucky wasn’t sure when the moment changed, but one moment he was shoving his finger in Steve’s ear, and the next they were trading soft, passionate kisses. Their hands roamed, mapping and exploring old remembered territories. Bucky was achingly hard, his cock pressed against Steve’s, both trapped in their pants. They didn’t rut, though. They took their time stripping each other down, getting skin rubbing against sweat-slick skin. The only time their lips seemed to part was when their shirts came off. The rest they spent with lips pressed together, tongues flicking over each other, teeth nipping and teasing, as if they could express every aching moment of longing over the last seventy years with their mouths. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered.

“Missed you so much.”

“Bucky!”

There were no other words. Steve wrapped his hand around both their cocks, a tight heat that they thrust into together. The sweat from wrestling let their bodies slide easily, moving together like they’d never been apart. Bucky held Steve close, panting into his mouth as they continued to kiss despite the soft cries of pleasure neither could suppress, just so he could watch his eyes. They darkened the closer Steve seemed to be to orgasm, and kept squeezing closed, yet instantly opening, as if he was afraid Bucky was going to disappear. 

Bucky wanted to promise he would never vanish again, but knew better than to make those kinds of promises. Instead he kissed Steve harder, held onto him tighter, and they fell over the edge together. 

“I love you,” Steve whispered after, as they lay, damp and come-stained, still tangled together.

Bucky smiled.

“I love you, too.”

“We should change the sheets.”

Bucky pulled Steve closer, pressed their foreheads together.

“We should.”

When Steve smiled, something soft and all his, Bucky closed his eyes. They weren't going anywhere, not anytime soon. And Bucky? He wasn’t going anywhere ever again, not if he could help it.

\-----

Bucky was alarmed to wake in a strange bed. As his brain booted, he was more alarmed to realize he had woken alone. He only relaxed when he smelled the familiar scent of bacon in the air. Sliding back down to the bed, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of Stevie moving about the kitchen. A clatter, a thump, and if he listened really hard, sizzling.

“You are certain about this?”

Blinking in surprise, Bucky opened his eyes. His concentration lost, he only heard a muffled reply, but the first question was enough. Little Steve had a distinct way of speaking, a lilt that wasn’t quite a European accent, but more the way he chose to construct his sentences. Why exactly had his Stevie gotten out of bed without waking Bucky to talk to Little Steve while making breakfast?

Now frowning at the ceiling, Bucky spent a few minutes trying to answer his own question, but came up empty. None of the scenarios - like Stevie threatening Little Steve off, sacrificing himself and “giving” Bucky to Little Steve - quite fit. If he wanted to know, he was going to have to get up and ask.

Bucky sat up again and grimaced as dried come pulled at the hair on his belly. All right, shower first, then answers.

Though Bucky was tempted to linger in the shower - it was the first he’d had in a long time he could consider safe - he was too nervous to do anything but get clean as fast as possible. He even debated joining them in a towel, but thought that might be taking things too far. From his duffle he grabbed a blue henley, black cargo pants and a belt, and got dressed before walking down the hall.

Nothing prepared Bucky, taking two steps into the living room, to see Stevie holding Little Steve’s chin and kissing him. Nothing had ever turned him on so fast. Part of him wondered if he should be angry, but all he could do was stare, memorizing the way Stevie’s lips moved slowly over Little Steve’s. And was that a flick of a tongue?

Bucky’s cock ached.

“What…?” he began, but his voice cracked. The world caught both men’s attention and they turned to him. Little Steve looked embarrassed, but Stevie just smirked like the cat that had caught the canary. 

“Morning, Buck,” Stevie said, that smile only growing wider as Bucky tugged at his shirt sleeves. “I invited Steven to eat with us. Hungry?”

The way he said the word left no doubt to Bucky that he knew exactly how affected Bucky was by their kiss.

“Um,” Bucky made himself speak, “I’d, uh. Kissing?”

Stevie snorted and Steven flashed him a shy smile.

“Steve,” he gestured to Stevie, “had a… an idea and it’s a good one. I think. I hope you’ll agree.”

“And it involves you two kissing?”

“One-track mind,” Stevie said to Steven, who was relaxing further the more uncomfortable Bucky became. To Bucky, he pointedly asked, “Don’t you want to know my idea?”

Bucky knew this answer. 

“Yes.” They stared at him, so he added, “What’s the idea?”

“My idea,” Stevie said, stepping away from Steven, “is that you should be with who you love.” Bucky blinked, but both Stevie and Steven were walking toward him now, both smiling similar smiles of amusement. “And there’s no reason we all can’t get what we want.”

“No one has to give anyone up,” Steven added. 

“I…” Bucky tried. “Stevie…”

“It’s okay,” Stevie said, taking Bucky’s hand and squeezing. “It’s really my idea. I think we could make this work.” He smiled and Steven hesitated just behind him. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

“I _am_ happy,” Bucky said, squeezing tight to Stevie’s hand.

There was no trace of bitterness in his face as Stevie smiled.

“But you could be happier. Trust me?”

“Always,” came the instant answer to Bucky’s lips.

Still smiling, Stevie slid behind him as Steven stepped forward to press against Bucky’s front. Bucky's throat went tight, his mouth dry, and his breath came in quick. He was frozen in place, too startled to _do_ anything as four hands slipped under his long sleeve shirt as well as the undershirt beneath that. Steven was biting his lip, looking up at him with familiar longing, as his palms mapped the ridges of Bucky's abdomen. Stevie's hands were kneading the muscles of his lower back, confident and sure of how Bucky liked to be touched. 

“Kiss me,” Steven murmured. 

It snapped Bucky out of his head, and he obeyed, bending his neck to press their lips together. Another pair of lips kissed along his neck to his ear, making him shiver, even as Steven’s lips parted on a gasp. Bucky took advantage, darting his tongue into the opening, to find that Steven did not, in fact, taste like Stevie. Bucky didn't know why, nor did he care. He pushed deeper, tasting more, and groaned as Steve sucked on his tongue. 

Bucky wasn't sure when it happened, but he found himself leaning forward, bending Steven’s slight frame back. They were pressed together, so there was no way Steven couldn't feel the erection pressing into his middle. Bucky could feel an answering one against his thigh when he slipped his leg between Steven's slender ones. He could also feel Stevie's pressing into his ass. They wanted this. They _all_ wanted this. 

Gasping for air, Bucky broke the kiss and breathed, “I love you,” against Steven's mouth. He didn't waste a moment before he turned, caught Stevie about the neck, and pulled him into a fierce kiss. 

“I love you,” he repeated when they parted, and he watched Stevie soften, all the hard lines of his face growing tender just for him.

“I love you, too,” he murmured brushing a sweet kiss against Bucky's lips. “But right now?”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked and he swayed in, leaning into Stevie's new, intoxicating confidence.

“Right now,” another brush of lips against his own, “I want you naked.”

“Please, yes - fuck. That,” Steven blurted. 

It was the least eloquent he had sounded since they met. Bucky laughed before turning about and claiming Steven's lips again. Unlike Stevie, he'd never shared this with Steven, and his new lover was as eager as a live wire. The slim body wriggled in his arms, rubbing the bulge in his pants against Bucky's thigh. His hands yanked and tugged at Bucky's clothes, a stark contrast to the easy movements of Stevie's hands that were making far more headway stripping Bucky naked. 

With Bucky stepping out of his shoes, they had him stripped down quickly, and Steven wasted no time wrapping both his hands around Bucky's cock. Stevie's hands caressed up his sides to his chest, cupping his pecs and plucking at Bucky's nipples. The dual stimulation had him gasping and moaning into Steven's mouth, then pulling away to lean heavily back on Stevie. 

“Jesus,” he panted, “wasting no time, huh?”

Steven squeezed his cock, then abruptly thumped down onto his knees.

“None.”

The word burst warm and soft against his cock and Bucky swallowed hard. A moment later, Steven wrapped his lips around Bucky's cock and sucked. Bucky’s knees weakened and Stevie's arm dropped around his waist to hold him up as Steven didn't slow down. He bobbed forward, taking as much of Bucky into his mouth as he could, sucking and licking as he did. The rest of Bucky's cock was covered by his hands, stroking in time to the rapid rhythm Steven was setting.

A pinch to his nipple and a matching nip just behind his ear made Bucky jerk, hips thrusting into Steven's mouth.

“Looks like he’s doing it how you like,” Stevie said, his voice a low rumble that did nothing to hold off Bucky's orgasm. “Twist your wrist when you pull off,” he instructed and, when Steven obeyed, Bucky let out a shout of pure pleasure and a chuckle of satisfaction from Stevie. “Looks like I remember just how you like it.”

Bucky swore, turned his head, caught a fistful of Stevie's hair, and hauled him into a kiss. Stevie gave as good as he got, thrusting his tongue into Bucky's mouth over and over while his hand teased Bucky's nipple. It was intoxicating; Steven beneath him trying to suck his brain out of his dick, and Stevie behind him, holding him up and fucking his mouth with his tongue. Bucky moaned and held tight to each, a hand in their hair, and let the pleasure build in his groin.

“‘M- I'm gonna…” he gasped into Stevie's mouth. “I can't-” The rest of the sentence drowned in a sharp moan as Steven took his plea to slow down as a challenge and sped up.

“Come for us, doll,” Stevie purred. 

“But-” Bucky tried to argue.

“Come,” Stevie ordered. “Come in his mouth. Let go, darling. Let us take care of you.” 

Bucky whimpered and shook his head. He wanted to touch them, to make them feel like he felt. He didn't want it to end so soon.

“You're in for a long day,” Stevie promised. “Take the edge off now. I'm going to fuck you after,” Bucky shuddered, “and you're going to fuck Steven. If you don't come now you won't last then, will you?”

Bucky shook his head. No, he definitely would not last then. Not at all.

Stevie smirked and kissed him once.

“Come for us, doll. Let go.”

Shuddering, Bucky let go as Stevie kissed him again. He let the pleasure wash over him, stopped fighting, and cried out. He stopped thinking, focusing on the slide of Steven's mouth, the flick of his tongue along the underside of his cock, and the friction of his hand at the base of Bucky's dick. In no time, his orgasm washed over him, his muscles clenching rhythmically as jets of come spilled into Steven's mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered as it subsided and Steven pulled off. 

Stevie didn't let go, just smiled at him softly. 

“And we’re just getting started.”

“Fuck,” Bucky repeated. Steven grinned at him, stood, and began stripping out of his clothes. Breakfast, Bucky thought vaguely, was going to be incredible, but the food might burn. He didn’t much care, not when Steven was showing so much pale, soft skin and Stevie was kissing up his neck, sucking on that spot right behind his ear. His cock was already twitching, trying to get back into the game.

Stevie whispered, “Let’s move this into the bedroom,” into his ear.

“Oh, fuck,” was all Bucky could say. 

It was going to be a very long, wonderful day.

\-----

“I need a bigger bed.”

Bucky grunted in agreement with Stevie. The sheets and someone’s legs were tangled across his thighs. Stevie was lying with his head on his left shoulder, Steven on his right. He was sore in all the best ways, covered in sweat, and starving, but he had never been happier.

“I need breakfast,” Steven said.

Bucky hummed his consensus, but no one moved. Likely Steven was the sorest of them, considering he didn’t have the serum to help him out, but even Stevie wasn’t budging from his place. 

“I think,” Bucky said slowly, “that this is going to work.”

Stevie and Steven snorted in tandem. Identical lips pressed to his cheeks, one on the right and left. Then they both laid their heads on Bucky’s shoulders and he pulled them close, an arm around each back. It should have been creepy, but instead it was perfect. He had his Steve, small and big, curled about him. They weren’t the same, but they had similar souls. 

“I love you,” Bucky said.

“I love you, too,” Stevie answered easily.

On his other side, Steven leaned up for another kiss, this one pressed to Bucky’s lips.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. Then he leaned over and kissed Stevie, a sweet thing that still challenged Bucky’s libido. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled, content and exhausted, at least for the moment.

“It was a great idea, wasn’t it?”

“Mm,” Bucky hummed again. “The best idea you’ve ever had, though…” He leaned down and brushed a kiss over Stevie’s hair as Steven settled against him again. “I would like to know why you came up with it.”

Stevie sat up, turning so his chin dug into Bucky’s pectoral muscle.

“It was what you said last night; you share life experience. I know how important that is and how hard it can be to explain where you’re coming from. With me and Steven, you’ll always have someone who _gets it_.” Stevie smiled over at Steven. “Plus, I figure if I’m going to share you with anyone, it should be myself.”

They chuckled, and Bucky hugged his lovers to him tightly. 

“So Dantes can have Mercedes and Haidee?” 

“Huh?” Stevie asked while Steven punched him lightly in the side.

“Maybe our story is better than theirs.”

There was something in Steven’s eyes that had both Bucky and Stevie reach for him, tugging and pulling until he lay between them. They curled around him, holding him as well as each other in a tight cocoon.

“Your story will be your own,” Bucky promised. 

“Our story,” Stevie corrected. “And it will be a tale for the ages.”

“The greatest love story.”

Stevie pressed a hand to Bucky’s chest.

“Until the end of the line.”

Bucky smiled even as tears sprung to his eyes. He leaned across Steven and kissed Stevie gently, then looked down at the man between them. If he was crying, neither mentioned it.

“Do you know,” Bucky whispered, looking into Steven’s eyes, and remembering when he’d said these words to someone else. Someone who looked just like Steven. “A line never ends. It goes on and on, forever. I will love you,” he looked up at Stevie and smiled despite how his lips wobbled. Stevie smiled back, nodding as tears swum in his big, blue eyes. Bucky looked back to Steven. “Until the end of the line.”

“Until the end of the line,” Steven repeated.

Bucky nodded. 

“Until the end of the line.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit me on... places...
> 
> Tumblr: [cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)  
> Pillowfort: [Cleo4u2](https://www.pillowfort.io/Cleo4u2)  
> Twitter: [Cleo4u2](https://twitter.com/Cleo4u2)  
> 


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